


Appraisal

by wintercelestial



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: 1 drop of like 5 other kinks, 2 drops of worship kink, M/M, PWP, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:14:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22931602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintercelestial/pseuds/wintercelestial
Summary: Praise, like sunlight, helps all things to grow. – Croft M. Pentz
Relationships: Diavolo/Lucifer (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 458





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> written for a tumblr prompt about lucifer praising diavolo (for once, looool)

Coming out to the scene in front of him has nearly become his nightly ritual, but Lucifer doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of it.

“Hm? Done showering already?” On the plush bed, Diavolo rolls over in all his unclothed glory and the satin fabric moves with him, twisting loosely around his legs. His pupils dilate slightly as he props his chin up on a hand, corner of his mouth lifting in a lazy smile.

“I am not sure what you thought my intentions in your bathroom were, but I assure you they were clean,” Lucifer mutters. He tightens the towel around his hips and crosses the spaciousness of the room. Intentions had been clean, but his own body certainly hadn’t been, not after the demon prince had just so greedily indulged in it.

The moon outside is almost full, casting its glow through the windows and bathing the royal quarters in gentle, silver light. Contrasted against the demon prince’s warmly-toned skin, it mildly reminds Lucifer of the angel Simeon – but Simeon is all the good things in the world, and Diavolo is in a realm of his own.

“You’ve been standing there for a very long time.” Diavolo’s teasing voice nudges Lucifer out of his thoughts. “What’s caught your attention?”

“Nothing of concern,” Lucifer answers. He deliberately avoids the eyes he knows must be roaming over his bare body. He entertains the thought of turning around entirely, as if that would hide the blush beginning to dust his cheeks.

Diavolo leans into the pillows, still resting on one hip, and opens his arms wide. “Is that right?” he laughs. Even one of his wings lift invitingly, and the moonlight illuminates the delicate gilding on the large, pointed talon. He pats the bed beside him. Light bounces off the gold markings wrapped around his forearms. “Come to bed, Lucifer, and come look some more if it pleases you so.”

“That was not what I said,” Lucifer grumbles, but how can he refuse such a request? He steps carefully over the mess of fine chains and jewellery strewn everywhere on the floor. Diavolo’s mantle of black fur is still on the rug from where he’d cast it off earlier, his mind consumed by his unbridled enthusiasm of the moment. Hours ago, at least. Their clothes are so mixed up in each other that they’re unidentifiable and inseparable.

The large bed dips slightly as Lucifer tucks his wings in and crawls into the embrace of outstretched arms. They hold him like a vice as Diavolo rolls their bodies over until his bigger form is on top, leaving the demon below him nowhere to go.

“I wonder if Barbatos has hexed my shower with a time spell,” Diavolo muses. Eyes of gold peer down curiously through strands of red hair. “Every time you come out of it you return to your usual moody self. What happened to the Lucifer I had in my bed twenty minutes ago?”

“I am not moody. I merely dislike being mocked.”

At such close quarters even Lucifer can’t resist running his fingertips over the swell of the demon prince’s chest, up past solid collarbones and out to the planes of his shoulders. The skin underneath is soft, different without his gloves on, but the muscle is all firm. If he tilts his head forward, he can press his lips squarely to the centre of Diavolo’s throat.

“I would, however,” Lucifer says, “agree that what I see does indeed please me.” He trails his fingers down from the broad shoulders, skimming across the bulge of biceps, and over the great black tattoos that mark his lover as the next Demon King. “All of this pleases me.”

“That sounds more like my Lucifer,” Diavolo murmurs, and Lucifer glances up just in time to see him flush pink. “You’re awfully honest today.”

It’s barely noticeable against the tan of his skin, even less against the red hair that frames his face, but Lucifer knows embarrassment like his own when he sees it. A calculating smile pulls at his lips. His eyes hold Diavolo in place despite the demon prince’s position over him, both physically and hierarchically. It soothes his pride to know someone of his rank can be captured in such a way.

“Admit that you are resplendent, just as you say I am,” Lucifer says quietly. “Unparalleled in radiance.”

“I, well, as a demon, radiance is not something I–”

Lucifer reaches for the bone structure of Diavolo’s right lowermost wing, and all words are lost. The entire limb shudders under his touch and he spares it no mercy.

“Aside from myself and one other, no demon in the Devildom has as many wings as you,” Lucifer hums, and the admiration is evident in his voice. “Does it please you to know your magnificence rivals even Asmodeus, the former Jewel of the Heavens?”

The red flush across Diavolo’s features is as deep as it is fierce. It makes for a good look, Lucifer thinks, and more so when it delights something carnal, deep inside himself. A taste of one’s own medicine, the humans like to call it.

“Lucifer,” Diavolo chastises him weakly, but it’s all bark and no bite. The bite’s all in the purple bruises emblazoned into Lucifer’s inner thigh, created by teeth and tongue and lips, hidden away like a secret branding. “I don’t know what you’re playing at, but I’m starting to think you’re enjoying this game of yours.”

Lucifer? Him, enjoying this? As a sadist, the thrill is undeniable. He has certainty beyond doubt, however, that it is not him who is truly enjoying this the most.

“A _game_?” Lucifer repeats in mock surprise. He rakes his nails over the wing in his hand, running his touch over the thin membrane that stretches from one wingtip to the next – from top to bottom, red to black, and back again. “Your expectations of me have fallen far, Lord Diavolo.”

He meets the demon prince’s low, rumbling growl with his own crimson gaze of immense fortitude.

“ _Lucifer_.”

“Should I not take pride in wanting to pleasure my lord with things he likes to hear?” Lucifer smirks at him, and he feels the familiar tumble of victory into his lap.

Diavolo swiftly pins him to the bed by the wrists. A soft hiss escapes him, lips curling back to reveal the barest hint of fangs. They stare each other down unrelentingly; nose to nose, breath to breath. Diavolo’s thighs fit securely against his own and Lucifer feels the beginnings of hardness rear its head.

“Your lavish praise is becoming satisfying, Lucifer.”

“Of course. It is fitting for one of your eminence, my lord… my next _king_.”


	2. Worship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I worship you so that it seems almost desecration to touch you. – T Roosevelt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> somebody requested a continuation. i gotchu fam.

_I worship you so that it seems almost desecration to touch_ _you_. – T Roosevelt

Diavolo’s grip on his control hangs by the finest thread.

“Your mouth is absolutely _filthy_ ,” he laughs, his chest shaking with mirth. Their eyes continue to raze each other, neither one willing to concede in the slightest. “If this is how you talk to your crown prince, how will you address me when I am king?”

Lucifer’s expression does not yield. He’s accurately aware of how close Diavolo’s body is above him, the strength invested in the arms that secure his wrists to the bed, the four pointed wings spread dauntingly over both of them.

“My filthy mouth, as you so describe it,” Lucifer says, red eyes alight with the new challenge, “will _worship_ the new king.”

A guttural sound fills his ears as Diavolo snares his mouth in a ruthless kiss.

A tongue swipes past Lucifer’s lips to explore him, already greedy for more, the suppleness mixing with sharpness of teeth. Their horns clink against each other and if Diavolo is any rougher, Lucifer’s curled spires will interlock with his own crown of red and black.

Diavolo reaches between them to grasp the towel still around Lucifer’s hips and tears it away. The tips of black claws brush over the flat of Lucifer’s belly – not hard enough to scratch, but he’s felt those claws before and outside of the throes of pleasure, they _hurt_.

“How dare you,” Diavolo pants, breaking free to inhale a much-needed breath, gold eyes glowing, “how dare you come to my bed, clothed in _nothing_ , and say those words to my face.”

He allows Lucifer no chance to reply, their horns bumping again as he ravages the warmth of Lucifer’s mouth once more.

Lucifer gives in, gives in like he does when it’s just the two of them like this.

He feels Diavolo’s thighs rocking back and forth on his leg, an unknown sound slipping out from his lips when he realises it’s not so much thighs, but the prominent _bulge_ between them. Lucifer’s own need roars at the sensation of Diavolo rutting against him with such blatant enthusiasm.

The demon prince is fearsomely blessed below the belt, unrivalled in his significant length and girth. It suits a demon of his size, of his status and power. Lucifer’s breath is stolen away in knowing he’ll have to take it again, but it’s not his first time tonight and likely won’t be his last.

Diavolo shifts from Lucifer’s lips to his throat, fervently kissing at the paleness of his neck. The thought of embedding his fangs in the beautifully soft skin has him salivating but he knows the Avatar of Pride would disapprove, would never allow for a mark so visible. He snakes a hand down between Lucifer’s legs to stroke him, only find the demon already hard beneath his clawed fingers.

“You always have so much enthusiasm for this, yet you work _so_ hard to hide it all,” he says, seemingly amused.

“Do not blame me when you are the instigator,” Lucifer breathes back, mind lost in the dizzying swirl of being restrained and pleasured at the same time.

Diavolo bites him for his comment. There are no fangs, just teeth – so forgiving it won’t even leave a mark by dawn – and a half-masked threat.

“Lucifer,” he warns, but it’s almost a loving whisper. He’ll brand the inside of Lucifer’s other thigh instead, if the impudence continues.

Lucifer pulls his lower lip between his teeth in the hopes that it will contain the traitorous sounds trying to escape him. He tests Diavolo’s hold on his wrists, struggling as he unwillingly bucks into the demon’s prince’s hand, but there’s no give.

“My lord,” he rasps out, the embarrassment of his futile attempt adding to the redness already splashed across the apples of his cheeks.

Diavolo hisses into the column of Lucifer’s throat, fangs bared this time, hair tickling Lucifer’s ear and hot breath dancing across his chest.

“If you _insist_ on calling me that,” he says, eyes darkening with desire, “I will have no choice but to indulge in this appetite you keep whetting.”

“The appetite of a kingdom,” Lucifer gasps, turning his face away as he feels gold eyes boring into him, twin fangs scraping at his jugular. “Infinite. Endless…”

Diavolo releases him, slinking down the alabaster expanse of Lucifer’s body underneath him. “The appetite of a kingdom. The _hunger_ of hell’s nine circles,” he echoes with a ravenous stare, “but all I want to feast on is my Lucifer.”

He places a hand on each of Lucifer’s thighs and parts them, kneeling to sit comfortably in between. He continues to stare avidly, eyes surveying the demon laid before him amidst his sheets, in _his_ bed. His tongue darts out to wet his lips as he leans forward, and the barely audible ‘click’ of his fangs retracting is the only sound among their harried breaths. 

Lucifer’s eyes fly open, his mouth following suit as he attempts so sit up, and all his words fail him. This was not what he had intended; he thought it would have been the other way around, him laying worship to the demon prince, _him_ taking that monstrous length down his throat instead–

“Really,” Diavolo says wryly, “lie _down_. Your mouth has done its fair share of rigorous work today. A king is but naught, you know, if he does not take care of his subjects.”

And he takes Lucifer into his mouth, _all_ of him, laving the flat of his tongue against the shaft, the bulbous head, drawing his lips up and down, until he has Lucifer squirming and hiding his groans behind a fist.

“Put it down,” he growls, pulling away when he catches Lucifer reaching for a pillow. The claws of one hand, clasped possessively around his thigh, clutch him just a little bit harder. “I want to hear everything I make you feel, and I _will_.”

Lucifer’s fingers twist desperately in the slippery sheets. There is nowhere else he can hide his flushed face, his hair sticking fondly to his forehead as he obscures his mouth in a pillow instead. He won’t cry out, even if nobody but one can hear him in the sanctuary that is the royal quarters – he will _not_ be reduced to the whimpers and cries of a demon whore.

Diavolo’s demon whore, then? Perhaps, secretly, behind as many closed doors as possible.

His own mind is so, _so_ disloyal sometimes.

He stamps down vehemently on the thought, reminding himself that he is a prideful creature.

“Lucifer,” Diavolo says gently, as if he’s been repeating himself, and Lucifer opens eyes he didn’t know were shut again. He lifts his head up and sees a sight between his legs that will surely trap him in hell for all of eternity.

Diavolo is watching him voraciously, with eyes keen as a predator hunting prey. Lucifer’s engorged length rests on his cheek, slick and shiny with spit, a string of saliva still connecting it to the demon prince’s swollen lips. His draconic wings haven’t shifted an inch from their position, still open and flared grandly.

Diavolo smiles back at him. He looks _viciously_ hungry, and not to be denied anymore.

“I want you,” is all he says, tilting his head to press wet kisses to Lucifer’s cock. The affectionate gesture makes it twitch, and his smile stretches wider. “Let me have you again, Lucifer… I want you like _nothing_ else in the world.”

“I – I am here,” Lucifer responds faintly, and his head falls back into the pillows with a thump. He feels his body ache and pine for release, the raging inferno of desire burning through him. It’s unbearable, and he’s unravelling.

The bed shifts slightly as Diavolo briefly reaches over him to the nightstand, dipping three fingers in a small pitcher of massage oil. It’s almost empty, a testament to the time they’ve spent absorbed in each other’s bodies.

“Place your legs on my shoulders,” he says, and it’s an order. His claws revert back to nails and he folds his wings closed, all of them, to ensure their talons are clear out of the way when Lucifer obeys. Even without the mantle of fur his shoulders are strikingly broad, and as imposing as the black tattoos than loop over each side.

“This is mortifying,” Lucifer whines, and immediately he’s more embarrassed at the way he sounds. He’s done this before, many times. It should be like clockwork to him, smooth and uninterrupted, but he always feels… exposed.

“What may be more mortifying to you,” Diavolo tells him, sliding two fingers into Lucifer’s hole, murmuring his delight when they penetrate him without any difficulty at all, “is that you are still so loose and stretched out, despite the hours that have already passed.” He slips the third finger inside and continues working the tight passage open, but it’s more for his own enjoyment than necessity.

The sounds falling from Lucifer’s lips are adoringly _sinful._

“It’s you. The size of you leaves me like this, every time,” he chokes out, covering his burning face with a hand. He’s a complete mess, half trying to take more fingers inside him, half trying to pretend he’s not.

Diavolo’s straining cock pulses uncomfortably at the carnal display. It’s a timely reminder that he still hasn’t had any relief. Soon, he urges himself. Have _patience_.

“Oh, Lucifer.” He sighs. “You and your filthy mouth will be my demise someday.”

He curls his fingers into his favourite spot, his ego howling when Lucifer’s control falters – only for seconds, but long enough for nails to morph into blood-red claws that leave gashes in the sheets.

Lucifer still won’t admit what he desires. He rarely does, if ever.

Diavolo lets his fangs drop back down, nuzzling into the thigh he has so conveniently thrown over his left shoulder. It’s pristine and untouched but if Lucifer won’t let him bite anywhere else, where will he leave his token? His symbol, his own personal calling card?

He kisses the smooth flesh roughly and after a surprised half-shout from Lucifer, the new set of animalistic teeth marks on one thigh now match those on the other.

It is the only time Diavolo can witness him like this – privately, clandestinely – where nobody else can see him trying to hold so fortuitously to his beloved pride. It has always been this way, but if it means he doesn’t have share, if it means he can have _all_ of this to himself and no other, who is he to complain?

It plays wild with his mind to remember Lucifer is still a demon of vast power. It thoroughly stokes the fire of possession, makes Diavolo want him even _more_.

He withdraws his fingers from Lucifer, eliciting a muted noise of protest, and sits back until he’s resting on his thick haunches.

 _Turn over_ , comes the unspoken command.

Lucifer rolls over wordlessly, sinking down onto his forearms and knees. Diavolo finally lets him bury his scarlet face into the pillows, fascinated with watching the silent battle between pleasure and pride take place. The arch of Lucifer’s back is delicious, lightly covered in a sheet of sweat that runs from shoulder blades up to the curve of his ass. His wings lie splayed out limply to either side and the ruffled black feathers match their owner’s tousled hair.

His scent is strong enough for Diavolo to smell him from legions away. It’s a heady mix that has him feverishly dripping pre-come onto his thigh – arousal, Lucifer’s own scent, the aromatics from his bathroom, and somewhere amongst it all, himself. There is an indistinguishable noise from the pillow, and he knows better than the back of his hand that it means _please._

Diavolo reaches for the pitcher of oil again. It will have to be refilled after this, for the next night, and for every night after. He spreads the cheeks of Lucifer’s ass with one hand and gives his cock a few pumps with the other, lubricating it before he rubs the head teasingly against the entrance he’s about to breach.

It welcomes him as he slowly enters, slippery and hot and still so _ferociously_ tight. Lucifer chokes out another strangled noise and turns his head to level the most condescending gaze he can muster at the prince of demons.

“You will not break me. I am not weak,” he says breathlessly, and it’s not because they’ve done this so many times that night, it’s because he just wants all of Diavolo in him, seated _right_ _down_ to the hilt–

And then Diavolo’s fully inside, a tremor in his arms from the effort of holding back as he allows Lucifer to adjust. It takes all of him to resist the urge to just _plunder._

“Lucifer,” he rumbles in his state of lust, shifting his hands to the demon’s waist. His fingers dig into the skin, hard enough to promise bruises later. He moves his hips experimentally and Lucifer responds in turn, a second set of lacerations appearing in the sheets.

“Do it properly,” Lucifer demands at him, his chest heaving up and down. Heavy-lidded eyes the colour of rubies cast their invisible chains around Diavolo and rein him in. “Your power and dominion as the next king, where _is_ it?”

Since Lucifer just won’t give up his little game, Diavolo is only too eager to show him. His wings open again, unfurling over them in a natural display of intimidation as he ploughs Lucifer’s body to an inch of his life. The moonlight reflects off the gold adorning him as he moves, fast and mercilessly. The royal quarters flood with the harsh sound of skin against skin, and the prideful demon’s not-so-prideful moans of gratification that he can barely suppress.

Diavolo wants to hear all of it. He wants to be privy to Lucifer’s pleasure, wants him to fall apart under his hands. He slows down to a grind, much to both their disappointment, and leans over to drape himself over Lucifer’s wings and smaller form. He slides a hand under Lucifer’s chin to tilt his head back and hisses a curse at the sudden constriction around his cock.

The new angle lets Diavolo penetrate him even deeper. He thrusts again into Lucifer’s heat and it clenches back around him, distending lasciviously around his thickness.

“Lucifer,” he chants by the demon’s ear, nipping at the soft ear lobe as his hips move again, less punishingly this time, “Lucifer, _Lucifer_ …”

He feels the feathers struggling between their bodies as Lucifer’s wings flutter like an entangled bird, the demon lost in the myriad of sensations that swamp his body. He caresses the frame of an upper wing and Lucifer _melts_ under his touch.

It takes Diavolo’s clouded mind a long moment to register that his lover is calling his name. Heat gathers in his loins like a furnace and it almost makes him want to stop pounding Lucifer into the bed, just for another chance to hear his name on those lips.

“ _Diavolo_ ,” Lucifer slurs again, the words vibrating against the hand still at his throat. 

“Ah. Not _Lord_ Diavolo this time?” Diavolo mouths dotingly at the base of one of Lucifer’s horns. A stray fang grazes against scalp and the demon prince revels in the shiver it induces, threatening to undo him at an alarming pace. “Tell me how I make you feel, Lucifer…”

Lucifer averts his eyes, wrenching his head away. More strands of dark hair get stuck to his forehead when Diavolo’s hand brings his head back by the chin.

“Do you not take pride in pleasuring your lord, _Lucifer_ ,” Diavolo whispers in his ear, punctuating the last word with a particularly vigorous rut against his ass, “with what he likes to hear?”

Oh, how lewdly _red_ his face becomes. The demon prince rubs a thumb over the scarlet cheekbones as he admires them under the silver of the moon.

“I feel–” Lucifer breaks off mid-sentence, hushed and almost ashamed before he tries again, “I feel – full to the brim–”

And there is that sound again, the closest he’ll ever get to pleading. Diavolo won’t force him, won’t ever, but getting anything that even comes _close_ to a confession makes something in him tremble with pride. His release won’t be far, now.

“There’s my Lucifer,” he hums, pleased, gold eyes glinting. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

He sets the wing in his hand free and instead reaches under Lucifer to palm at the demon’s cock, fondling it roughly when it jerks at his touch. The pre-come gathered at the tip dribbles onto the sheets below, joining the rest in a small damp patch as Lucifer writhes in the steadfast fingers that cage him.

“I–I’m going–” Lucifer grunts, ambushed between Diavolo’s cock inside him and the hand that grips him so, so strongly. He is _gone._

“Come,” Diavolo purrs into his skin, his hips still working to chase his own release, “come again for me, Lucifer, as you do every night you spend in my bed.”

He knows Lucifer hates when his weakness is seen, despises it when they can hear him at his most vulnerable. At the crest of Lucifer’s climax Diavolo humours him in one of the many ways the prince of demons always enjoys, shoving fingers into his open mouth to stifle his screams.

Lucifer’s back bows _exquisitely_. Crimson claws shred the satin where he scrambles for something to clutch, but there is nothing. He unintentionally squeezes around the huge cock buried inside him as his own member continues to pulse, the last drops of white spattering his leg and the bed.

For Diavolo, the pure sensation of it all is enough to destroy his mind. Lucifer is staunchly tight no matter how many times he’s been opened up, tight, _tight_ – and every time the Avatar of Pride leads him to his downfall, throws him clear off the cliff face of self-control.

Diavolo fists a handful of arched wing feathers and _snarls_ his satisfaction into Lucifer’s throat, bronze skin flush with white, as he spills his seed deep inside. “Mine,” he growls wantonly, lips curled so far back his fangs show, “all _mine_ …”

Lucifer’s quivering arms barely have to strength brace against the bed and he collapses in a heap, taking both of them down with him in a knot of arms and legs and wings, a deluge of black and red and scatterings of gold. Diavolo’s cock inadvertently slides out of him in the tumble and a trail of white follows, trickling feebly down the back of Lucifer’s thighs.

If his demon weren’t so occupied with showering, Diavolo muses, he would pump him full every time.

They both lie side by side in the quiet, doused in sweat and the light of the moon as they try to catch their breath.

Diavolo shuffles in closer behind until his chest meets Lucifer’s back, twining their legs together. “Are you alright?” he asks. He lets the scent of Lucifer fill his nose, and it’s mesmerizing. “I haven’t hurt you?”

Lucifer’s heavy breathing settles as the endorphins start taking over his system. “No more than any other time,” he replies, pulling a pillow close. He throws an arm over his face so he can’t be seen basking in the bliss of post-coital afterglow. He’s fine, but the rumpled feathers, unruly hair and the mouth-made bruises littering his shoulders make him look _ruined._

Diavolo sidles even closer, close enough for his semi-hardness to lie comfortably between the roundness of Lucifer’s buttocks. “Do you want to bathe?” he says absentmindedly.

“I am tired. Nothing seems to deter you from wanting me all night, regardless of what I do, so I will wait until tomorrow.”

Diavolo angles his hips in response; if he positions himself correctly, and spreads Lucifer out _just_ right–

Lucifer yelps.

He’ll slide right back inside.

The fiery heat greets him as always, and the slickness is enchantingly _divine_. He has all of two seconds before one of Lucifer’s wings snap back at him in protest, and he fends it off with a good-natured slap from a wing of his own.

“Why must you–”

“If you don’t intend to bathe, Lucifer, at least let me have this to myself.” Diavolo takes Lucifer’s wayward wing and gently folds it back into place, smoothing any stray feathers down. “I only wish to satiate the remainder of my appetite for you.”

Appetite of a kingdom, indeed.

“You will be the filthiest king known to hell,” Lucifer mutters sleepily, and Diavolo just thinks it’s endearing, that even in such a state he still has the audacity to laud that kind of praise over him. He kisses the nape of Lucifer’s neck to bode him goodnight, snaking an arm around his waist, followed by the shelter of his largest pair of wings.

The sheets he haphazardly throws over them are riddled with slits, and some parts aren’t even worth saving, but they can be replaced easily enough. Neither of them have been this destructive in a long, long time.

Praise makes things grow, of course, but worship makes things _flourish._

Diavolo buries his face among the softest, downiest feathers in the Devildom. Lucifer is warm and pliable in his arms, and already lost to dreams.

“I could be the filthiest king known to hell, Lucifer,” he mumbles contentedly into the plumage, “but I would let _no_ _one_ else worship me the way you do.”


End file.
